


Artemis' Blessed Ones

by AlitheCambre



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BAMF Stiles, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Multi, Pack Dynamics, Pack Feels, incubus danny
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-26
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2018-02-06 08:45:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1851790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlitheCambre/pseuds/AlitheCambre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It has been six years since Scott was bitten by Peter  and everything in Stiles' reality was thrown on its side. Beacon Hills truly is a beacon for the supernatural. Stiles is now graduated from University with a degree in Law Enforcement and works alongside his father as a deputy. They work alongside the rest of the Argents and the Hales to keep Beacon Hills a safer place for everyone. But when a hunt goes wrong and Stiles loses what is left of his biological family, his friends grow worried. They take him to Miss Morell for counseling and she sends him somewhere she knows he'll get help. </p><p>Years pass and Stiles doesn't return. The Pack is torn apart without their most beloved member and in their time of weakness, a threat unlike any other presents itself. Will Stiles return in time or save them? And if he does, will he still be the man they knew? What happened in those three years?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is an experiment of sorts. I'm not very good at the whole 'consistent updates' thing, that much has proved overly true in the past. But I am writing a novel with a similar theme as this and so I think that will help me keep this one alive. Besides the new season just began so I'll be getting fresh inspiration once a week. I hope you enjoy this!

"Take the perimeter, Sheriff," Stiles smiled at his dad and placed a clip of silver Wolfsbane and mountain ash bullets into his handgun, snapping it in and locking it in place before holstering it on his hip and checking the scope on his sniper rifle.

"I'm going, I'm going," is father muttered, grumbling good-naturedly. There had been six victims this time, more than they've had to deal with in years- not since the Argents and Hales allied with the Sheriff's department. Deaton had determined that it was one or two wolves that were infected with a lycanthropic strand of rabies. He had apparently seen it before and cautioned them heavily.

_"They're feral- more so than any omega. If they bite you, it will do more than just turn you- in fact, you'd be lucky if you died. Their bite is hard and painful like no other. Any rabid werewolf can change people; they don't have to be an alpha. If another werewolf is bitten, they'll become infected as well and we will have to kill them before it spreads."_

_"So in short- don't let them bite you," Stiles summed up for everyone. Derek, who was leaning up against the metal operating table, grunted in assent and everyone else nodded. Chris Argent seemed to clutch his handgun a bit more tightly at the news. Alison was huddled under Scott's arm as usual, as was Erica with Boyd. Danny was unconcerned, sitting cross-legged on the counter in the back playing with a kitten. The pansexual incubus was loved by literally everyone in the pack and never went on any missions. He was always there for the aftermath, he was in med school about to get his doctorate and helped patch people up if they needed it, both physically and emotionally and even sexually. It wasn't that Danny was like the pack whore, more of someone who enjoyed sex with every gender (and literally needed it to survive- he's blossomed as an incubus on his 20th birthday) and was always there if you needed it. Isaac was currently sitting behind Danny, cradling him for comfort, and Lydia stood next to them. Peter was away in the mountains again with his wife and daughter, Malia, who apparently shifted into a coyote. Deaton cast Stiles a_ **_look_ ** _for the comment but didn't contradict him. The Sheriff was leaning on the doorframe, looking grim as anyone._

_"Alright." John rubbed his face with his hand. "I've pinpointed their den in the warehouse by the docks, the old cannery. Here's what we're going to do."_

"Stiles are you in position?" the voice on the radio was easily recognizable as Erica's and he pulled his walkie-talkie off his shoulder to answer.

"Affirmative, Miss Reyes," he answered cheerily. "I am perched on the opposite roof with all exits save for the one in clear sight. The Sheriff has left to run perimeter. And Derek, I assume you are in position?"

"Covering exit C," Derek grunted in confirmation. "Isaac is on my 6 and Scott is ten yards on my 2 in cover. Lydia, are you ready to flush them out?" there was silence, the crackle of the frequency.

"Lydia, report status," Stiles whispered anxiously into his radio, instantly worried.

"I'm good," Lydia's slightly breathless reply came through the frequency and the icy fear released its grip on his chest. "They're sleeping. But Stiles..." she trailed off.

"What?" he asked frantically. 

"We have a problem. There are more than 2," 

"How many?" his voice was instantly cold, the cheer draining from him as the soldier in him came out. 

"I can't tell, they're all piled together."

"An estimate?" he asked/ordered.

"10, maybe? Maybe seven?" she sounded hesitant. "I think I need backup," she admitted.

"Argents," Stiles barked into the communicator. 

"We heard," Chris' reply was quick and brief. "Moving into back her up now,"

"Good. Everyone else hear that?" the various replies of affirmative came and Stiles nodded to himself before continuing. "Perfect, adjust your actions accordingly but proceed as planned. Argents, are you in position?"

"Affirmative," Allison's voice replied this time. "Ready when you are, commander Stiles," her cheeky reply relaxed him a bit and he smirked.

"Ready?" no reply came- that was good this time, it meant they were in position. "Go!"

A banshee scream flooded the night air. The yelping of the unprepared infected wolves followed. Stiles couldn't see it but he could picture what was going down- according to the plan they'd agreed on Lydia- and now Chris and Allison- would flush the pack from the warehouse into the open. Stiles would gun them down as needed and Scott, Isaac, and Derek would fight on the ground. John was there only to run perimeter just in case one slipped past their defenses. Erica and Boyd were in the woods in case any of them tried to escape through there.

The rabid and terrifying werewolves spilled from the warehouse like ants. Adjusting his stance, Stiles looked through the scope and took aim. One of the symptoms of the lycanthropic rabies was the colour of their eyes- a sickly green/brown/yellow colour that glowed in the night. Stiles kept to headshots when he could- no need to cause unnecessary pain or suffering. He had taken out at least seven when he realized that Lydia had underestimated. As they hadn’t left the warehouse he assumed Lydia and the Argents were fighting some inside still. Derek, Scott, and Isaac were all engaged in feral fights, carefully avoiding the teeth of their opponents. Erica and Boyd had come to the edge of the forest, Boyd fighting two rabid wolves and Erica one-on-one with another, both were winning. 

Stiles shot another in the head before searching for stragglers. Two were heading towards his dad’s perimeter and he cursed, quickly taking aim and shooting but missing both in his panic. They ducked behind another warehouse before he could shoot again.

“Dad, you have incoming!” he radioed frantically. No reply came. He cursed again and scanned for more stragglers, sniping one or two before deciding they had it handled and abandoning his post. “I’m heading to assist the Sheriff,” he radioed to everyone. “Don’t expect cover fire any longer.” He slung his spare rifle over his shoulder and forwent the rungs of the ladder, simply sliding down to the ground. His feet hit the dirt and he barely straightened his knees from impact before he was off, running towards the giant gap in the fence that separated the different warehouses. He was meters away when he heard a growl and a scream of pain. He increased his speed.

“DAD!” he shouted, pulling out his handgun as he ran and clicking off the safety. Coming into the clearing where his dad was he aimed at the werewolf that was bent over his dad, flocking his view of the damage. He shot it directly in the head. It dropped like a sack of potatoes. The other werewolf was injured and bleeding nearby and Stiles unloaded a round into that one’s head too before rushing forward and kneeling beside his dad, hands fluttering uselessly over the bloodied form.

“Stiles,” his dad croaked.

“Dad, shh,” Stiles was crying. “Save you energy,” he looked up, fumbling with his radio. “DANNY!” he screamed. “Danny, it’s my dad!”

“On my way,” Danny always listened into the frequency. His response was calm and clipped.

“Adrastos,” John spoke more insistently. “You have to let me go,”

“What? Dad, no, you’ll be fine,” Stiles cried.

“Adrastos,” he coughed. “Look,” Stiles didn’t want to look. He knew what he would see. He shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut. “Son, look!” John insisted.

“No, no, no, no, no…” someone was chanting the denial. It took Stiles a minute to realize it was him. He opened his eyes and looked.

The bite was gruesome and sloppy. The blood was oozing, mixed with a horrible, stinking green puss that sizzled like acid. White foam and spittle surrounded the area, spattered over blackened veins.

“Let me go, Stiles,” John breathed. “I miss you mother, I have for so long now.” He shuddered out another breath. “Let me go,” looking into his father’s eyes, Stiles couldn’t respond any other way.

“Okay,” he croaked. “I love you so much dad, I’ll never-“he choked off with a sob.

“Adrastos,” his dad smiled. “We’re so proud. Your mother and I- we love you, son.” And then he closed his eyes. John stopped breathing. A horrible wail echoed in the night. Footsteps ran towards the clearing but they were too late. Stiles blacked out.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Funeral, some comfort, and getting help.

It isn’t the first funeral Stiles has attended, not by a long shot. It isn’t even the first parent he buried. But Claudia Stilinski’s funeral had been a quiet affair, friends and family only. Not his dad’s. The Sheriff was beloved by the entire town and it seemed like everyone wanted to say a proper goodbye to John Gregory Stilinski.

Stiles didn’t remember the ceremony. He didn’t remember giving the eulogy he’d written or accepting the condolences and hugs of complete strangers. He knew he must have done these things but he didn’t remember doing them. The flag over his dad’s coffin was folded and his medals from his time in the Navy were on display in the sunlight. In the movies, funerals were always dim and rainy affairs in large and depressing cemeteries. In reality, it was a beautiful day. The sun shone as it did so often in California, sparkling off the dark wood and metal of his father’s coffin. The cemetery was in full bloom, marigolds and daisies splashing colour in the vividly green grass. The purple pansies on his mother’s headstone were a stark contrast to the black marble, the stone matching Stiles’ suit perfectly. He stayed past the farewells and well-wishes. The majority of the funeral attendees left back to the church for lunch but Stiles and the pack stayed.

They didn’t approach him- they seemed to understand he needed time to process this by himself. But he could feel them there, standing ten meters off in a group. Even Peter was here, and Cora. Scott and Lydia had taken point and the others gathered behind them, Derek in the very back. Stiles watched as the coffin was lowered by the maintenance men and it was covered with dirt. He watched as they threw grass seed over the fresh mound and watched as they left. He didn’t move until they were gone, only stepping forward to kneel at the double headstone his father had purchased when Claudia had passed. He traced the engraved letters with a trembling hand.

_Claudia Grace Floros-Stilinski_

_1964-2009_

_Beloved Wife and Mother_

_“Don’t stop living on my account.”_

The quote was something she had said to Stiles when he skipped his first school dance because she had a relapse and was rushed to the hospital. She hated that she took that night away from him and insisted that he not miss out on his life just because she was ill.

_John Gregory Stilinski_

_Beloved Sheriff, Protector, and Father_

_1966-_

The inscription was old, the year of death not yet carved. John and Stiles had decided what to write for both his parents when they ordered the headstone for Claudia. He had already made the arrangements for the headstone to be updated. He ran is fingers over the blank, smooth spot where the year would go. And for the first time since his father died in his arms, a tear escaped.

0o0o0o0o

Eventually he had stood and the pack converged around him. After a very long and comforting group hug that even Derek joined in on they pulled apart, all going home at Stiles’ insistence. He even forced Scott to go back to his apartment with Allison. Individually, nearly all of them asked to stay with him that night but he rejected them all- except one.

Danny knew exactly what he needed. Having an incubus in the pack was extremely useful in times like these but it was more than that. Danny had always been loved by all- he had an extremely charismatic nature about him. It wasn’t the first time Stiles had been intimate with the other man- he had taken comfort or sought release many times just like all the others, even Jackson before he left them.

Danny drove Stiles to his house, somehow knowing that Stiles wouldn’t be able to face the empty hose he had shared with his father for 23 years. The Mahealani family had been well off and left Danny with quite a sizable trust fund- large enough that he could afford to put himself through med school and still have enough left over for a luxurious house on the edge of town. Danny led him into the master bedroom and stripped him patiently before leading him into the shower. Stiles allowed the water to flow over him, the temperature already perfectly adjusted. Danny washed them both; pulling one of the six shower-heads down to better aim it to rinse everywhere. The slick slide of the incubus’ hands did not go unnoticed by the other man and Stiles was fully hard by the time they were both clean. Danny didn’t turn off the spray immediately, instead placing the nozzle back in place and dropping to his knees.

He stroked Stiles a few times with his hands before leaning forward and sucking him into his mouth. He took is time, sucking and bobbing, allowing Stiles’ velvet cock to slide along his tongue and hit the back of his throat. He paused only to breathe between slow bobs. Stiles’ own breathing grew heavier and it was like the pleasure from the physical stimulation broke through his dam. Tears trickled silently down his face as his orgasm approached, mingling with the shower spray. Danny hummed comfortingly and Stiles choked on a sob, clutching his fingers in the incubus’ hair and holding him there as he came down his throat. Danny swallowed dutifully and pulled away when he finished, pressing affectionate kisses to Stiles’ pelvis and softening cock.

Stiles pulled him to his feet and thanked him with a kiss, pouring his grief into it. Danny returned it submissively, taking only what he offered and comforting him with gentle touches and warm caresses. They dried off and Danny pulled Stiles into his bedroom, curling up under the duvet with him, still naked but not expecting reciprocation. They held each other all night and for the first time in almost a week, Stiles didn’t have a nightmare.

0o0o0o0o

Weeks passed. The pack was growing worried- no one expected Stiles to recover but he was becoming reckless and losing focus. He showed little emotion unless he was intentionally provoking someone during combat practice, more often than not that someone was also a werewolf. When he intentionally challenged Peter’s alpha status during a boxing match and almost got killed before Derek and Scott intervened, they held a pack meeting.

“Stiles, we’re just worried. You never talk about it, not with us.” Allison soothed, wrapping an arm around him. “And I understand,” she looked distant for a long moment, remembering the death/suicide of her mother. “Nothing anyone says seems adequate against this much pain. But please, for your sake, just do this one thing.”

And that was how he had ended up here, in his old High School counselor’s house, sitting across from her on a black leather chair, spilling his guts. Ms. Morrell had always been nice- even when she was the emissary for the Alpha Pack. And she was Deaton’s sister which made him more inclined to trust her. But it was her knowledge of the supernatural that really helped him. He didn’t have to hold back or make up half truths about his life to adequately describe what he was going through.

The first few sessions, she had done the asking and the talking. But after a while, he couldn’t take it. He told her things he hadn’t ever told anyone else, not even Scott. And anyone that knew Stiles knew that once you got him talking, it would take something as drastic as the End of the World to shut him up. And so she listened and the words kept flowing until he had no more words, until his stories mingled with sobs and the salt of his tears. And when his voice was hoarse and his body physically ached from the expulsion of emotions he slumped into his leather chair and met her gaze.

To his exhausted surprise, she was crying as well. She had seemed so professional before but something he said must have connected with her because she stood and wiped her tears before crossing around the desk and squatting in front of him, wrapping him in her arms.

“I just need to get away,” Stiles muttered in her hair where his face was buried as his arms wrapped around her in kind. They were still, holding each other for a long while. When she pulled away, she looked him in the eyes.

“I can help you with that.” She told him. He managed a brittle, weak smile that was gone instantly. “If nothing else, I can help you with that. But first, you must listen closely.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHEW! That was exhausting to write. So anyways- don't fear Sterk fans, Danny is simply there because he is the best at comforting, its in his nature. I hope I'm explaining that okay.   
> Next chapter will be a time jump by three years, bringing the year to 2023-ish idk, I lost track. I hope you enjoyed this, even if it was depressing!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THREE YEARS LATER

 “OH, DROP DEAD DEREK!” Erica yelled over the earpiece communicators that Derek had bought them all for Christmas last year.

“Erica! Please don’t use the comm line to air out your personal issues with our alpha,” Lydia sighed, taking aim from the rooftop and shooting down another one of the damn faery creatures.

“Fuck off, princess!” Erica growled.

“Ladies- so not the time,” Scott was sounding slightly panicked, overwhelmed by the attackers on his end of the battlefield. There were at least ten blue scaly creatures circling him in.

“I got your back!” Allison called, her comm shut off to avoid distractions. An iron tipped carbon shaft arrow buried itself in the back of his nearest attacker’s neck, poking through the throat and splattering the blackish blood. Three more sprouted through the chests of his attackers in quick succession, opening it up for him to slash the nearest six up with his claws, flipping them over and taking them out as fast as possible, ducking their blows.

“Guys… we’ve got a problem.” Just as Scott’s attackers thinned out Derek’s grave tone filled the comm line. In between kills, Scott looked up to the tree grove where the alpha was positioned. A fresh swarm of blue fae creatures were cresting the hill, rolling through the trees like a deadly tidal wave.

“SHIT!” Isaac’s scream alerted them all to his plight- it wasn’t like Isaac to swear a t all, not even when he was angry. Killing another creature as Allison shot two more, Scott shifted his gaze t Isaac’s area. Ten fae creatures eight times the six of Isaac were slowly but steadily making their way towards the clearing, swinging deadly looking bone weapons- axes, swords, and even arrows.

“Well, it’s been nice knowing you all,” Boyd’s grim humor was to be expected in times like these but that didn’t mean it helped.

“FALL BACK!” Derek yelled. “REGROUP, we’ll take them on as a unit!” no one wasted any time, forming a triangle with Derek at point and Lydia, Allison, and Chris at the center- being the most vulnerable pack members.

The first wave was decimated easily enough, black blood spraying as they took out the fae foot-soldiers. But the looming threat of the giant fae warriors never ceased, their pace unhurried and assured, unconcerned that their prey would escape.

“BRACE YOURSELVES!” Derek yelled over the dying screeches and sounds of gruesome battle. He slashed the skull of another creature open just as the first giant approached. Derek slid his foot back to brace his center of balance and met its gaze with red eyes, roaring up at it, ready to attack. Before he got the chance, a gunshot rang out. The giant dropped, half its skull shot off, its hand half raised to attack with a bone scythe in it.

There was a beat of silence from both sides of the battle as the fae fell, the pack dodging out of the way. It hit the ground with a ‘thud’ and a cloud of dust. Everything was still as the dust settled- no one even dared to breathe.

A terrifying roar came from one of the remaining giants. The others echoed it and raised their weapons to charge and attack. Two large iron arrows took down two more giants. Another pause came followed by more gunfire and more felled giants. The pack was looking at each other in confusion as the fae giants and creatures scrambled to find their attacker- their new target- but to have no more success than the pack. When the last giant was taken out effortlessly the creatures began to panic and scramble so the pack shook off the shock and lurched into action, killing as many as they could and corralling them away from the tree line.

Suddenly they became aware of a new presence within their ranks, a male figure in a silver hood and black leather pants with various sheathes for guns and knives and a quiver and collapsible bow on his back was swinging a long curved sword made of a black metal. When he touched the fae with the blade, even if he just barely cut them, a black infection would spread over their blue skin and they would seize up and fall over, spewing their blood from their mouths and choking to death on it. Together with the pack the man finished off the fae, not a single one escaping.

He stooped down and began wiping his blade on the tunic of one of the fallen warriors before re sheathing it and reaching back for his quiver to count his arrows. Derek was the first one to speak up and approach him.

“Who are you?” he growled, stance tense. “And why can’t I catch your scent?”

“You can’t scent me unless I allow you to, Derek Hale,” the alpha took an involuntary step back at the sound of his name. “As to who I am, all in good time.” He finished mysteriously. He was looking Derek full in the face now but somehow all Derek could see was hi mouth, curled into a smirk, the entire top half of his face was shadowed no matter which way he turned. It had to be magic; a spell- there was no other way his features would be so obscured.

“Why did you help us?” Allison asked from further back, her hand still on her bowstring and arrow notched, ready to attack in a moment’s notice if it became necessary.

“Because,” the hooded man’s smirk grew wider. “You needed help. My patron set me here. Now that I have completed my training I was assigned to watch over your pack exclusively and I can’t do a very good job of watching over you if you are killed on my first day now, can I?” he chuckled.

“Patron?” Chris asked this time, warily.

“Why, the goddess Artemis, of course. I believe you two have met…?” Chris’ face went pale with surprise and then hardened.

“Once. She tried to kill me.”

“Because you were violating the rules,” the hooded man’s voice grew sharper.

“Allison wasn’t ready yet!”

“Enough!” the man’s tone was final and level, not raised but empathetic. “That was not up to you to decide. Even Gerard, with all his craziness and faults, did not try to take over the matriarchy as you did, he was always trying to get the next female to step up- even if the next female was an unstable crazy bitch with a tendency for seducing and taking advantage of minors and killing their families.”

Derek was beyond tense. He was so tense he almost looked brittle, like ice over a window that shattered at the slightest touch. Everyone else looked vaguely uncomfortable and avoided looking directly at their alpha. The man only chuckled.

“Sorry, sensitive subject?”

“Hold on,” Scott stepped forward. “You expect me to believe that the goddess Artemis is real?”

“If you don’t believe me, ask your hunters, there,” the hooded man gave a careless shrug. A sudden gust filled the sunset-bathed clearing. “Or you could just ask her yourself,”

A soft white flash filled the clearing, temporarily blinding everyone. When they blinked the spots from their eyes they saw the hooded man kneeling at the feet of a young woman with luminescent skin and auburn hair. A smattering of freckles covered her button nose and high cheekbones. Her eyes were stern and silver- not grey but truly silver. They looked so much older than her appearance suggested; they were the type of eyes you expected to see peering at you over the top of a grey haired librarian’s glasses. Her hair was pulled into an artfully messy side-braid and a silver quiver of silver arrows was on her back, a matching bow gripped in her hand.

“Brother,” the woman greeted with a soft smile that softened her features. She looked amused as she gazed upon his bowing form. “Have I not told you that we are all but equals now? Quit bowing to me!”

“Milady,” the hooded man sounded sheepish as he straightened. “Apologies, old habits die hard,”

“Don’t I know it,” she smiled.

“Wait a moment,” Lydia was the one to speak this time. “You’re the goddess Artemis from Greek Mythology- the maiden goddess who hates men?”

“That I am. And you are the banshee, Lydia Christine Martin,” Artemis inclined her head in respect. “You are one of Athena’s favourites.”

“I am?” Lydia preened for a moment before shaking herself. “But wait- if you are the moon goddess then why is your worshiper a male?” Artemis took no offense, instead chuckling in delight.

“I can see why you are a favourite. I admit I did not like him at all at first. But he passed my trials and proved himself worthy. He has become like a second brother over the years, a more preferable option to my actual brother if you ask me,” she laughed and the hooded man laughed with her this time. “Apollo can be a bit of a pain in the arse.”

“Literally,” the hooded man rubbed his butt as if remembering a pain there. Artemis laughed harder and the man’s mouth pouted.

“You deserved that arrow- you interrupted his poetry with your incessant questions!” she grinned. He scowled but didn’t argue. “Anyways, you all are most likely confused and wary of our presence here but I think I may know how to put you at ease.” She turned to the hooded man. “Are you ready?” the man took a deep breath and braced himself, his shoulders tensing and jaw clenching as he nodded.

“As long as you’re sure I am allowed,” he exhaled slowly. She nodded and he reached his hands up, gripping the hood that cast the shadow over his face and lowering it.

At first, Derek didn’t recognize the man. The messy hair was brown- chestnut and a bit of scruff covered his jaw of the same colour. The nose was bent and a light scar ran from the corner of his left eye to the top of his left ear. But then Derek looked at his eyes. They were rimmed with thick black lashes and looked so much older than the last time he had seen them but they were still the same chocolate/hazel/gold that he had never seen before save for on one person and it could not be a coincidence.

“Stiles?” he croaked. The smell of his mate filled his nostrils as Stiles unmasked his scent.

“Hi Derek,”

 


	4. Chapter 4

There was silence in the clearing for a long moment. Then suddenly-

“STILES!” Scot and Lydia shouted in unison. Everyone seemed to surge forward at once and soon the man in question was being smothered by a super strength group hug. A weight seemed to fall off his shoulders and he laughed loudly, hugging as many of them back as he could.

“HOLD UP!” Scott was the last to pull back (having been the first to hug) and he narrowed his eyes suspiciously at his best friend, glaring at him and shifting his gaze to the goddess who was standing off to the side. “Where the fuck did you go that ended with you becoming best bros with _Artemis_?” he sounded offended, as if Stiles had replaced him, rather than shocked. Stiles had to laugh again.

“Don’t ever change, Scott McCall,” Allison pitched in as Stiles drowned in his tears of delight.

“What?” Scott asked, trying and failing to sound innocent, a smile curling at the corners of his lips.

“Perhaps I would be better suited to tell the story?” Artemis pitched in helpfully when it looked like Stiles wasn’t going to convalesce anytime soon. Everyone turned to her instantly, their curiosity spiked. Stiles slowly recovered his self, gasping for air and wiping his tears as Artemis began her story. “It all started three years ago, when a former hunter of mine contacted me with an unusual request.”

_THREE YEARS AGO_

_“O Goddess of the Moon and Hunt, Leader of the Hunters and the Ever Chaste One, please, hear my prayer.” Morrell was speaking into a fountain that created a gentle spray of water which she had tossed a golden coin into that had promptly disappeared. She had spoken to someone called Iris and then placed her ‘call’ that Stiles was listening to now._

_He could still feel the dried tears on his face and was honestly too emotionally exhausted to feel surprise when the rainbow reflecting mist turned silver and semi-solid, glowing like the light of the moon in the sunset-orange room. A pretty young girl’s face appeared in the water._

_“Marin, my daughter,” she seemed surprised and slightly worried. “What urges you to contact me so suddenly?”_

_“Mother Artemis, I confess I have an unorthodox reason for this but I ask that you please hear me out.”_

_“Of course,” the lady- Artemis, apparently, Stiles held in a snort at the realization (because how was this his life?) - nodded slightly and grew silent._

_“I have a candidate to train under you as a hunter. But there is a problem and it is no small thing,”_

_“Ask, child,” the goddess sounded indifferent but still affectionate._

_“He is… well, a **he**.”_

_There was silence- terrible, crushing silence. Water trickled and dripped and a bird cawed outside the window._

_“Explain to me how a **male** is worthy of my service?” the goddess’ face was blank but her tone was hard as flint and sharp as one of Derek’s fangs. Stiles couldn’t even bring himself to laugh at his own thought process, just staring blankly at the little wet spot on the wall behind the fountain, a spot just past Artemis’ left ear._

_“My goddess, I beg of you- just meet him. Look into his past and see for yourself and if you still doubt me, put him through your trials. I would give my life if I am wrong about him- he will not fail.”_

_And even longer silence ensued. Thankfully, this one held a distinctly less murderous and slightly more pensive feel to it. Then she sighed._

_“Very well, I shall do as you ask. But if he is not worthy of the trials, we will speak no longer.”_

_“Thank you, Mother Artemis,” Morrell bowed to the mist._

_“I shall come to you to test him,” and abruptly the mist turned back into simple mist, no rainbows or silver glow- just water. He wanted to ask how long they would be waiting but a larger part of him had lost the will to care. And so he remained stoic and still, a practically catatonic lump of flesh, blood, organs, and bone sitting in a chair in his councilor’s private office. His question would have been moot if he had asked it anyhow- not thirty seconds after the ‘call’ ended there was a bright flash and the goddess appeared before him._

_She seemed reluctant and more than a little skeptical, trailing her eyes up and down his form. Stiles wasn’t even embarrassed by his choice of clothing- that morning he had thrown on his sherbet orange skinny jeans, a purple shirt with a gold X on the front, some yellow all stars, and a red hoodie. His hair was likely semi-greasy and a total mess and he was probably pale and overtired looking to top it all off. Nonetheless, Artemis stepped forward, her silver dress swirling around her legs as she did so. She reached a hand out and, as Morrell watched nervously- placed two of her fingers against Stiles’ temple, his eyes tracking her movement listlessly._

_The goddess let out an involuntary gasp and Stiles stiffened as he felt her intrude in his mind. She pulled his memories out- from the earliest fuzzy recollection to the most painful and detailed recall. In reality it only took a minute for the goddess to learn everything about him but it felt like an eternity or two had passed when she finally pulled away. Stiles went lax in his chair, panting and sweating; attempting to curl himself into the fetal position as all his old pain and memories became fresh again, causing him to whimper pathetically at the onslaught._

_Artemis herself seemed to take a moment to compose herself before stepping forward again and placing a hand on his shoulder that radiated comfort._

_“He is worthy,” she declared reluctantly “but he still must pass the trials,” Morrell looked relieved._

_“Thank you,” Stiles’ croak took them both by surprise. They looked at him as he struggled to sit straight again, catching his breath. “Both of you,” he was oozing sincerity, his golden doe eyes framed with thick lashes, clumped together by tears. He then passed out, slumping down in the chair._

_“Sleep tight, little hunter,” Artemis whispered, too low for Morrell to hear. Yes, Stiles still had to pass the trials, but even she was confident that he would. He was a stubborn, innocent man with a heart she hadn’t believed any male could possess in three thousand years. The trials wouldn’t be easy but he was stubborn. Nothing could break her little Adrastos._

“And so she took me,” Stiles conclude the goddess’ story. Everyone in the pack shifted their attention to him. He had recovered from his mirth and was standing tall and serious once more. “I was tested and trained and finally deemed ready to return to you, here. So, here I am.” He shrugged.

“We really missed you,” Erica spoke up, the others nodding in agreement.

“I missed you too. I was afraid you would be angry at me,”

“Oh, I’m sure the anger will come,” Lydia assured him, narrowing her eyes.

“But right now we’re just glad you’re back,” Danny interrupted, clasping him on the shoulder in understanding and comfort. And that was what Danny was best at and what Stiles remembered him for. The normalcy caught up with him and he allowed it to wash over him and pull him under, smiling as he drowned in it.

“Let’s go home,” he sighed, still smiling. There wasn’t a single person who protested. That night after Artemis took her leave, for the first time in three years, the pack slept together on Derek’s ridiculously oversized bed in his ridiculously overpriced loft. And no one woke up- not even once- until sixteen hours later.

It was good to be home.


End file.
